Brother of Darkness
by ARaggedMuffin
Summary: Serebro Moniker is an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood, but will he survive when he gets the most dangerous contract he could possibly recieve?  Rated T for now, although rating could change depending on what happens later.
1. Severed Heads and Annoying Argonians

It was as I pushed open the heavy metal door that guarded the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary that I heard the noise.

It was a quiet rustling, coming from a large bush about five meters away. I stopped for a moment, a million possible sources of the sound rushing through my head. I had not been followed, or at least I thought - everyone was capable of mistakes. But who would be after me? Vengeful family members of a previous target? Or perhaps bounty hunters from Markarth - the only city in which there was a price on my head, thanks to an uncharacteristic lapse in stealth on my part.

Slowly, I closed the door again, and carefully put down the heavy brown sack that had previously been slung over my shoulder. I drew a dagger from it's sheath on my leather belt, then moved furtively towards the bush. I reached for the bush, and started to push away the branches to reveal…

A rabbit.

A bloody rabbit.

Cursing my own stupidity and paranoia, I withdrew my hand from the bush, the branches snapping back to attention like soldiers caught lounging on-duty.

Sheathing my blade, I walked back to the Sanctuary's entrance, picking the sack back up on the way. I pushed the door open, and as it slammed shut behind me I was lost in momentary darkness before the candles that lit the entrance corridor lit themselves. What anyone would do without magic was a question I had often found myself pondering, always giving up after finding myself unable to form an answer that didn't sound completely horrible.

As I carried the heavy sack down the corridor, exerting more effort than I liked to admit,, I heard footsteps from ahead. I sighed, wondering which of my brothers had come to greet me and hoping it wasn't…

'Serb!' Came the enthusiastic greeting from the end of the corridor.

'Greetings, brother.' I replied dryly to Jorrel. Jorrel was a newer member of the Brotherhood, and one I could definitely have done without. He was something of a fan of mine, and an incredibly annoying one at that. He had an air of cheerfulness around him that did not befit an assassin, and the Argonian was one of my few brothers who I really couldn't stand.

Jorrel joined me as I walked into the main hall of the Sanctuary, dumping the sack on the long wooden table with a satisfying _thump_.

'What's in the bag, Serb?' Jorrel asked me curiously. I ignored him, instead turning my intentions to Harvar, the second-in-command of this particular branch of the Brotherhood..

'Is that all sixteen?' The Nord asked, gesturing to the sack.

'Seventeen,' I replied. 'There was an unexpected guard.'

'Ah.' Harvar smirked. 'You expect extra payment?'

'Not at all.'

'Good.'

Behind me, Jorrel was quietly opening the sack to investigate the contents. Or he thought he was being quiet.

'I wouldn't.' I warned him. Too late, the bag opened and the heads of sixteen targets and a guard spilled out of the bag, rolling off the table and onto the floor.

'Pick that up.' Harvar commanded the stupid creature angrily.

Together, Harvar and I walked out of the hall and into Harvar's chamber. Harvar sat at his desk, gesturing for me to take a seat opposite.

'Were there any complications?' Harvar enquired.

'None, except for that guard.' I answered.

'Good.'

'Have you anything new for me?' I enquired.

'Yes. One of our sisters has reported rumours of a performance of the Black Sacrament in Riften. Ride there and see what you can find.'

'I'll set out tomorrow, then - I haven't slept for days.'


	2. Explanation and Exposition

I think it best to provide you with some details about the Dark Brotherhood before I continue with the story.

There were three Sanctuaries in Skyrim - one in Dawnstar, one in the forest near Falkreath, and one hidden in a mountain near the centre of Skyrim, Whiterun. The latter Sanctuary is the one I had spent the last twelve years as an assassin for.

The life of an assassin reaped more rewards than one would expect - gold, of course, came in copious amounts. It provided outlets for this with murderous intentions. And then there was the fear.

Fear grants you power that nothing else can - who else but a killer could walk through a busy street in a well-guarded city, wearing the armour of a Dark Brother and carrying stacks of weapons, and yet have the city guards do nothing more than to assure you in hushed voices that they know who you are and yet will not attempt to arrest you? Of course, every now and then there'd be a younger, stupider guard who'd get you alone and try to finish you, but when their bodies were found by the next patrol it only added to the intimidation that radiated from those who worked for the Brotherhood.

As for how one could contact the Brotherhood, there was the Black Sacrament, in which one would create an effigy of their intended target out of human body parts, surround it with a circle of candles, and then stab the effigy while uttering the Black Sacrament chant. The Night Mother, leader (for want of a better word) of the Dark Brotherhood, could detect when, where and by whom the Sacrament was performed, and would inform the Listener, a person who had the high honour of being able to hear the voice of the Night Mother. Unfortunately, the Night Mother was not currently at the Whiterun Sanctuary, and even if she was, no Listener was currently known to exist anyway. Instead, we had members of the Brotherhood placed throughout the nine holds - when someone performed the Sacrament, the Brother or sister in that hold would find out and inform us.


	3. Serious Sisters and Dancing Drunkards

It was a long ride to Riften - but still not much longer than it would be to any other Hold, since the Sanctuary was almost in the centre of Skyrim.

After about an hour of riding, my horse was starting to get tired, so we stopped at the edge of a forest for a rest. The horse instantly slumped to the ground, and I treated myself to a Sweetroll - a rare but guilty pleasure. After about half an hour of resting against a large rock, I noticed a slight tremble in the ground. Listening carefully, I heard a heavy pounding on the ground, getting louder and louder. Footsteps.

Cautiously, I peeked over the top of the rock to see a giant lumbering forward, evidently looking for something - no doubt it had lost a mammoth or two. Giants weren't the most trusting or intelligent of creatures, so if it saw me it would definitely attack. I took my greatsword from the scabbard on my back, grasping it firmly with both hands. I crouched low behind the rock, half-hoping that the giant wouldn't notice me.

I almost cried out in surprise as the heavy, pale foot of the giant slammed down on the ground, almost hitting my leg. I scrambled backwards along the ground, then climbed to my feet, readying my greatsword. The giant looked at me for a few seconds, confused, before it raised its massive, hand-crafted hammer and started to lumber towards me. I backed away as I assessed the situation. The horse was a capable fighter (as far as a horse could be, anyway) but was asleep, so that wouldn't be much help. I took a swing at the giant, making a long gash in its leg. The giant roared in anger and pain, and started to move quicker. I swung my sword again, but it swung its hammer at the same time. The two weapons collided, but the superior strength of the giant's blow won out, and my weapons was knocked from hands and clattered to the ground below. Now panicking slightly, I looked from weapon to giant to weapon, trying to work out if I could reach the blade before the giant could get in another hit. The answer was clear; I couldn't. All I had left were my twin daggers, and… _of course!_

I brought up both of my hands, and splayed my fingers wide. Out of each hand came twin streams of fire. The giant roared in pain and surprise as its hair caught alight. I shot another stream at its wrist, and it dropped the hammer. One final blast knocked back; it turned around and started to hurry away. I was almost disappointed - many giants would be to aggressive to back off, and would keep fighting to the bitter, bloody end.

Satisfied that the ten-foot creature would not be back for a while, I collected my greatsword and, after a moment of deliberation, took the giant's hammer too - I still had plenty of room to carry it on my horse's back.

Deciding that she had had enough rest, I roused the horse. It took about ten minutes to get her fully awake, before we set off once again for Riften.

Riften was, at first impression, a charming city. It was one of the smaller Holds in Skyrim, situated in the Southeast. Riften was at the forefront of the fish trade, situated on the edge of a large lake - the city was in fact built with two layers. The top layer was where the civilised people lived, holding the marketplace, the Temple of Mara, and of course the palace of the city's Jarl. The lower layer was basically a river with wooden walkways on either side and the occasional bridge to connect them. It was here that one could find the entrance to the Ratway, the place for criminals to meet and greet. It held the main hideout of the Thieves' Guild, an inn called the Ragged Flagon. The Flagon was not to my taste, so thankfully I was to meet my contact in the entirely more tolerable Bee and Barb inn, on the upper level.

The moment I entered I was approached by an overenthusiastic mage, offering me his companionship and insisting that he had prowess in Destruction magic. I ignored him completely, instead walking over to the bar and gesturing over the Argonian innkeeper.

'Excuse me,' I asked. 'I'm to meet a friend here. You couldn't tell me where-'

'Over there.' The Argonian interrupted, pointing at a table on the opposite side of the room. A woman in black armour and a hood was sat there, alone.

'Thank you.' I told the innkeeper, then made my way over to the table an sat down.

'That Nord mead, or Black-Briar?' I asked the woman, nodding to her drink.

'Ale,' She replied, looking up from a map that she had been previously studying. Several red crosses adorned it. 'And you?'

'Black-Briar. So, what about this Sacrament?'

'I've heard rumours of a Khajiit named Ahzirr performing the Sacrament. He lives outside of Skyrim, but he's currently staying in this inn. Nearest door to the stairs.'

'Well, that's easy. Is he in his room at the moment?'

'No, he left for the market about an hour ago. Should be back any minute.'

'Thanks. I'm going to need a distraction to get upstairs though, I'd rather the innkeeper didn't see me going upstairs without having a room rented and get suspicious.'

'Thought about that. See him over there?' She nodded at a middle-aged Nord, sat on a chair in a corner and surrounded by empty tankards.

'What about him?'

'He's blind drunk, and a show-off at that. If you want to, you can get him to cause a distraction.'

'Not a bad idea.'

With that, I stood up and walked over to the Nord, then took a seat next to him.

'Hey.' I said.

The Nord opened one bloodshot eye, and grunted in what I took as a 'Yes?'.

'I bet you're a terrible dancer.'

About half a minute later, I crept upstairs as, behind me, the drunkard Nord was doing an unrecognisable dance in which he threw both legs up, then fell to the floor before getting up and doing the same thing again, while singing an 'improved' version of _The Age of Aggression:_

'_We drink lots of mead_

_And have lots of fun_

_But the age of aggression_

_Is nowhere near done_

_The Stormcloaks hate the Empire_

_But we know that they'll lose_

_In at most a year they'll be licking _

_The Emperor's shoes_

_Down with Ulfric!_

_Did a really bad thing_

_I think he shouted at someone _

_Something to do with the king?_

_But this land is the Empire's _

_And they'll make sure Ulfric fails_

_So 'till then, let's all just relax and_

_Have a tankard of ale.'_

I'm not ashamed to say that even I chuckled once or twice, before inwardly scolding myself and reminding myself to shut up. The singing had stopped now, and I was pretty sure a guard had come in to shut the drunkard up.

Once I was on the first floor, I checked to make sure nobody was looking then gradually pushed open the thankfully unlocked door. The room was devoid of it's user, as the Sister had promised. However, on the floor was a skeleton encircled by candles and a knife stick between two of It's ribs. So, knowing that I was in the right room, I leaned against a wall, and waited.


	4. Murdered Merchants and Mad M'aiq

It was dark outside when the Khajiit returned to his room.

He spent about three minutes on his knees, thanking me for coming and verbally kissing my boots before he could compose himself and tell me what was to be done. Frankly, he annoyed me - the Khajiit I had dealed with previously had all been a lot tougher than this pathetic excuse for one.

He eventually managed to tell me about the target - a Breton called Arasbjord, who lived in Markarth, my currently least-favourite city. Great. At least the Khajiit paid well.

Arasbjord's supposed 'crime' was ripping off this Khajiit. The majority of the Khajiit were merchants, traders, who valued their money greatly. When they were cheated out of it, they tended to retaliate disproportionately.

A deal made, I left the inn, quickly dispatching a suspicious guard and leaving his body propped up on a bench, and left Riften.

Markarth was literally on the other side of the province, and I took about two days to reach it. I made a stop at an inn in Falkreath along the way. The thing about Dark Brotherhood armour is that it is so instantly recognisable and so synonymous with an instant, unexpected and untimely death that you tend to get lower prices from merchants and innkeepers, none of whom fancied annoying a career killer.

The city of Markarth was, thankfully, not in the cold part of Skyrim (the majority of it), and was relatively warm. However, the fact that I was travelling there in the middle of Evening Star (one of the coldest months) lessened the feeling of satisfaction this brought me. The Sanctuary was not a warm place, being near the top of a mountain, so I tended to enjoy what warmth I could get. I would have to make do with this for now.

When I arrived, I left the horse in a stable, making sure to intimidate the stable boy, who recognised me from my last visit, into not telling the guards I was here on pain of death (not for him, for his horse). Horse settled and stable boy terrified, I made my way into the Hold.

Every time I entered Markarth, I had to hold back an involuntary gasp of wonder. The city was built up from ancient Dwemer ruins, in what used to be an expansive cavern before the ceiling fell in, leaving natural rock walls with an open sky. To my immediate right was a bustling marketplace, with a meat stall run by an impatient-looking man and a jewellery store, run by an enthusiastic-sounding woman. I walked into the market, knowing I'd find my target there, rather than going left towards the waterfalls, streams and workshops.

A brown-clad guard eyed me suspiciously through the eyeholes of his helmet, before his attention was caught by a drunken brawl several meters away. He hurried over to break it up, and I rushed past him before he could return his attention to me.

Arasbjord was a merchant who had set up a fruit stall in the marketplace - however, he was currently away from his station, so, checking to make sure nobody was watching, I quickly scaled the wall of a house less than effortlessly, grunting with exertion. This would have been easier a couple of years ago…

Once I was safely perched on the rooftop, I readied my bow, picking out an arrow from my rather extensive collection. I decided on a Dwarven arrow - it was the most deadly kind I owned, but I didn't have many. The Dwemer had died out long ago, and Dwarven weaponry and metals were getting harder and harder to come by. So, fully prepared, I began to wait.

Eventually, the merchant returned. Calmly and slowly, I raised my bow, aiming for his head. I pulled back the arrow in the bowstring as far as it would go, then, when he as perfectly still, I released the bowstring and let the arrow fly. With a resounding _thunk_ and a splatter of blood, the arrow found its mark. Arasbjord fell backwards, having time for nothing more than a surprised yell. The heads of every person who had witnessed the murder who turned to me, and people started to point and shout. Below, a guard took out his own bow, aiming it up at me. Several others drew swords as one more grabbed a ladder from a pile of building equipment and steadied it against the wall of the house I was stood on. I swore, and leaped forward and off the roof, landing in the crowd and using an unfortunate spectator to cushion my fall. That'd be another forty Septims on my head, then.

I clambered back to my feet and sprinted away from a group of pursuing guards as an arrow whizzed past my head - great, they were shooting at me.

I flew around a corner, pushing past an older woman who fell to the ground in an angry heap. I stopped as I came to the edge of a stream, looking down into the rushing water and listening to the rattle of metal boots on flagstones as guards rushed to catch me. I heard a sword being drawn, and a guard spoke to me in what sounded like a Nordic accent.

'You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. What say you in your defence?' The words were well rehearsed, and this guard had clearly spoken them often.

I turned around to face the guards, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth.

'Goodbye.' I said, as I spread my arms wide and fell backwards, plunging into the freezing water below. The stream was more shallow than I had expected, barely submerging me. Back aching from the impact, I climbed to my feet and up to the other side of the stream as behind me a guard drew his bow and fired, while the others ran after me. I rocketed through the streets and sped through alleys until I looked back and was sure the guards had lost me, at which point I stopped running, got back my bearings and returned to the front gates. I reached to open the gate, when I felt the tip of a sword at the back of my neck.

'Stop right there, criminal scum!'

'Again?' I asked, exasperated. I turned around to face the guard, his face hidden by his helmet, leaving only his eyes visible. He spoke.

'You violated the law,' The guard told me like that hadn't been previously established. 'Your stolen items are now forfeit. Pay the court a fine of serve your sentence.'

'I don't have time for this.' I growled as I grabbed my dagger and plunged it into one of the eyeholes of the guard's helmet. Blood streamed from the hole, and he fell back, pulled off his helmet, and clutched at his eye as he screamingly in blinding agony. Blood splattered the ground, forming a dark red puddle. Another strike with the dagger, this time through his chainmail armour, and the unfortunate guard was silenced, falling back and hitting the ground with a _thump_. By this time a large crowd had gathered, watching me with mixtures of horror and distain. I nodded a mocking salute, then turned around, opened the gate, and stepped out of Markarth.

But of course, it wasn't that easy.

As I stood with Markarth's front gate behind me, a trio of guards confronted me. They took no time with threats, instead attacking as one. I parried the first guard's lunge, knocking his greatsword from his hands. I picked it up, quickly sheathing my dagger, and swung the heavy blade, removing the guard's head from his shoulders. A shower of blood flew up from his neck and rained down on me and the other two guards.

Another guard attempted a swipe, but I blocked with the greatsword and pushed forwards, knocking the guard off his feet. He fell back and clattered down the stone steps, crashing to the hard ground below and groaning in pain.

The final attacker had fear in his eyes - he'd seen what I was capable of, and was certain he'd come off worse. However, in a feat of bravery, he attempted to plunge his sword into my stomach. I dodged just in time, yet his sword still scraped my side, opening up my armour and leaving a painful cut. Enraged, I swung the greatsword with all my might, and opened his belly. He keeled over backwards, not even having time to scream_._

Finally finished, I limped away from the fight, ignored the moans of the guard I had pushed down the steps, instead hobbling past him. I whistled, and within ten seconds my horse was before me. I climbed onto its back, and tugged on the rains. The horse began to speed away as, behind us, guards crashed through the gates. They were too late.

It was almost two days later when I returned to the Sanctuary. Leaving the horse tethered in the stables outside Whiterun city, I turned around and began a two-hour hike across the rolling green plains of Whiterun, taking care to avoid the giant camp nearby.

As I entered the Sanctuary, I heard hushed, whispered voices from up ahead. Curiosity piqued, I quietly proceeded down the entrance hall. I hugged the wall as I came to a corner, and looked around it to see Harvar, Jorrel, and Saras, an Imperial Sister, huddled around a table, examining a map of Skyrim. There were several red exes adorning the map, two or three with iron daggers plunged into them.

'What's this?' I asked, revealing myself. Harvar looked up at me, his expression going from deadly serious to welcoming in about half a second.

'Serebro,' He greeted me. 'I trust the job is completed?'

'Yes. The target was a Breton, named-'

'I'm sure you can tell us all about it later.'

'Sorry. So why the map?' I asked.

'Just planning out a couple of jobs that need doing. We've been contracted to kill an Imperial officer over in Dawnstar. His name's Caecil Derennius.'

'Who's doing the job?' I asked, already certain of the answer.

'You are.' And _there _it was.

'Good. I'll get onto it tomorrow.' I started to walk away to my quarters.

'Oh, Serebro?' Came Harvar's voice from behind me.

'Yes?' I sighed, turning back to face Harvar.

'M'aiq wants to speak to you.'

M'aiq the Liar, as he and several of his ancestors were known, was a Khajiit. He was also the leader of our Sanctuary. He was also a genius.

M'aiq was a good assassin, to be sure. One of the best. However, he was getting older, and preffered to now spend his time wandering Skyrim disguised as a priest, feigning insanity to draw suspicion from him and using that lack of suspicion to gain information about targets, which he'd then relay back to us younger and therefore more capable assassins. He'd fight when he had to, but only when he had to.

I sat down opposite M'aiq, who looked up at me from a map and smiled.

'Hello, Serebro. M'aiq smells much death on you. You should probably wash that off.'

Okay, when I say feigning insanity, I mean pretending to be more insane than he already was… even if that was already quite a lot.

'…I will,' Was my answer to the leader's ridiculous statement. 'Why did you want me here?'

'Oh, M'aiq just wanted a quick chat,' Explained the Khajiit. 'About murders.'

'Okay, so what do you need?'

'There is a job that needs doing, Serebro. One that our Brothers and Sisters cannot know about.'

'So why me?' I queried, confusion in my voice.

'You're the best, Serebro. You're the one with blood on your hands that will never wash off. You don't enjoy your work, do you?'

I was taken aback by the sudden change of subject. 'No,' I replied honestly. 'I do what I do because it's all I have left.'

'M'aiq knows,' Said M'aiq. 'That will be all for now.'

'But what about the job-'

'Not now.' M'aiq smiled. 'M'aiq just wanted to chat.'

'But you said you had a job to give me.'

'Later.'

'But why tell me you were going to give me a job?' I was confused.

'M'aiq wanted a chat. Now rest, Serebro. You have an Imperial to kill tomorrow, do you not?'


	5. Memories of Misfortune

_That night I dreamed of the past. For the first time in years._

_I was just twenty then, younger than I remember thinking I was at the time. _

_I was a hunter, along with my brother and father. I was skilled with a bow, thanks to my father's teachings. We were in the meat business, selling cuts of tender steak, brilliant beef and delicious fish in the Riften market. My mother ran the stall, and we made a cosy profit and lived a happy life._

_Before the Black-Briars got involved._

_Maven Black-Briar - a younger woman then - had noticed our business' success and wanted a cut of the profits. My parents knew we had no choice - Maven had the city guards in her pockets, and had ties to both the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood. So we paid up, giving her a half of all profit we made at the end of every week. Our lives slowly got worse, as we started getting less food (we couldn't live solely on meat) and were forced to sell our house and live in a room above the Bee and Barb. The innkeeper, who sympathised with our plight, gave us the room half price. However, we all knew it wouldn't last forever. Our father was running out of money with which to pay Black-Briar, and Maven knew it. One day we found our stall smashed to pieces and the produce stolen. We tried to report it to the guards - we knew Black-Briar was responsible - but they did nothing._

_In the end, father had to go to Maven and beg her to let up. He was kicked out. Literally._

_The next morning, my father was found decapitated. With that, my family and I packed our things and made to leave Riften for good. But Maven wasn't going to let that happen. She paid off the guards to arrest us before we could leave, and we were accused of murdering my father and jailed. _

_The cells were dark and damp. We were informed that we were to be executed the next morning. However, in a stroke of luck, I managed to reach through the bars and pickpocket the key to my cell from a guard as he passed by. When he had left, I hurriedly opened my cell, and went to free my mother and brother. The key wouldn't work. So, distraut, I promised them both I would be back for them, and left the dungeon._

_But I never had the chance to return. Without my knowledge, the executions had been rescheduled to an earlier time. The next morning, I witnessed the deaths of both my mother and my brother by the headsman's axe. That night, I swore revenge._


End file.
